Charmed

Stacy looked at the woman, Jamie. Jamie made her uneasy. For the first time, she felt weird. There were nine guests sitting at the dinner table but that woman, who was introduced to her an hour ago, spooked her. Strangely, she had ended up sitting away from her husband, Ian. Stacy, sitting at the head of the table, looked at all the guests who were indulging in what they had labelled 'the best home cooked meal ever'. Her blood was not yet boiling as much as it was simmering very slowly. She looked upon a young lady seated next to her husband with a huge smile upon her face. The dislike was instant.

She was pretty and eloquent, but that was not why she disliked her. She had heard her husband mention her name several times, but had not given any thought about it. She wore a little yellow sundress with bright floral prints. 'Rather childish for her age', Stacy thought. Stacy was in her early thirties while Jamie looked like she was in her late twenties. Stacy looked at her with the shallowest smile she could muster at the sight of Jamie hitting Ian playfully on the arm. That made her blood boil. How could this woman blatantly flirt with her husband, right under her nose? Right in front of the other guests. has she no shame? The giggling she could handle, the tiny distance Jamie had left between her seat and Ian's, Stacy could handle as well. She could even handle the annoying way she batted her lashes. But that stupid little playful 'hit' from time to time made her want to grab Jamie by the hair and drag her out the door. Goodness knows what she tried at the office. Not to mention how seemingly benign her husband was acting about the whole thing.

Stacy stood up and picked up her plate, pushing her chair back loudly as she got up and headed towards the kitchen. 'You've finished?' As she passed her husband, his hand touched her wrist. She jerked out of his reach, much to his surprise and walked off, muttering a simple 'yes'. She knew that if she did not do something to regain her peace of mind, this would be bothering her for the next two weeks at least. She scrubbed the same plate under running water for the next fifteen minutes, thinking about things of the past. There was a way she could get back at Jamie but she was not sure whether it was the right way. Stacy's grandmother had died a bitter woman and had taught her what she termed as 'how to take care of yourself', a phrase which encompassed various forms of black magic that could be used on people to take revenge on them for what they had done to you. Stacy's mother, however, was a woman who lived a blissful married life and had always reminded Stacy not to listen to her grandmother. Such was the confusion she grew up with.

She had never thought of using what her grandmother had once so passionately taught her. She looked at the plate after awhile, almost realizing that she could see her reflection in it. She towel dried it, then placing it in the dish holder along with everything else. She took a deep breath and walked back to the dining table. She had walked back only to find Jamie laughing in her little coy manner and leaning towards her oblivious husband. Stacy glared at her, the line dividing right and wrong concerning her grandmother's teachings was blurring greatly. The next day, Stacy took the glass she had stashed away in one of the kitchen cupboards out when her husband was at work. It was still half filled with the white wine that Jamie had been drinking. She took it to her room and looked at the rough figurine of a person she had made out of cloth and stuffed with tissue. She placed it in a basin and poured the water over it so that it soaked it in like a sponge. She closed her eyes and chanted a spell she had been taught a long time ago and then opened them to put on a pair of oven mitts.

She had been wondering what she was actually going to do and then remembered the woman's irritating laugh. She picked up the leaf she had plucked from the potted plant that grew just outside her neighbor's house and put in on the wooden board. She rolled it with her rolling ping until white sap seeped all over the board. Throwing away the leaf, she carefully placed the doll in the wood and used it to wipe the wood clean, letting the cloth absorb as much moisture as it could. When she was done, she chanted a spell over it again. She centered her energy and sent it forth to do her work, after which she placed the doll in a box and took off her gloves. Switching off her room light, she closed the door behind her and went out to watch the news on television. The next day when Ian came back from work, he looked rather flustered. Apparently, he and Jamie had been working on a project together, which they were supposed to have presented. Jamie, the ever so sociable one, had prepared the speech but two hours before the presentation, mysteriously she had lost her voice. She could not speak at all.

It had been very strange because she had shown no signs of a sore throat. It had been very frustrating for Ian who had to make the presentation himself while Jamie sat next to him saying nothing at all. Stacy smiled secretly to herself and wondered how far this thing would go if she did not do anything about it. She patted him on the back and told him to relax; he would not have to go to work until after the weekend was over. Things got much worse for Jamie over the weekend. On Monday, Ian come back and told his wife that she had not come in to work because she had developed some sort of rash. She looked at him in his mild angst. Obviously, if Jamie was not there, work would pile up for him. She should have known; she should not have done this in the first place. Placing a reversing spell upon the doll the next day when her husband left for work, she threw it down the rubbish chute and hoped for the best. She delved into her memories, trying to remember what her grandmother had taught her about reversing spells. She had made a special concoction out of herbs and spices that would help speed up her recovery as well as relieve her throat. She had unstitched the doll and emptied its contents into the dustbin.

She arrived at the work place the day after, finding out that Jamie had planned on going despite whatever rash she had had. Stacy stopped by the office during lunch so as to pass her the flask filled with her concoction. She found Jamie and her husband having lunch together in the cafeteria. Her husband looked more shocked than he should have been, to see her. In fact, he looked almost alarmed. She saw him inform Jamie of her presence as she approached and the smile left the young girl's face. When Stacy was about five meters away from them, she realized why Jamie had not wanted to come to work. Her mouth was covered in healing sores. They looked incredibly painful and did not do well in complimenting the rest of her face. 'Hi Ian,' she smiled as she gave him a peck on the cheek. 'How are you?'

She turned from him to look at Jamie. 'But more importantly, how are you? My goodness, your mouth! I mean, I don't mean to be rude. Does it hurt? I actually brought you something for your throat. I heard it was quite bad. Are you okay?' Jamie's face had gone pale. Had it been fear that caused it, Stacy would have thought she had seen a ghost. But it was quite obvious that Jamie looked guilty. She shook off the thought and attributed it to the fact that she had been flirting with her husband a few days ago. She told her it was just a recipe her grandmother had taught her how to make and that her throat would be better in no time. 'You... you really shouldn't have,' Jamie stammered. 'It's no trouble. You had just got better, and it's not like I have anything else to do with my time. I'm going now. But you take care, okay?' Maybe if Stacy had put two and two together, she might have figured out what was going on right then. If she had read the alarmed look on her husband's face with the guilt on Jamie's face, she might have been able to see what was going on.

But the news came written all over Ian's lips three days later when he came home from work. 'What's that on your mouth, Ian?' She had asked, concerned. 'I told you to stop scratching this morning.' He rubbed his mouth vigorously, his eyes darting everywhere. She walked up to him and looked at his lips. They were covered in sores, the same ones she had seen on Jamie's lips, the kind of sores that could not be passed on unless it was through direct contact. 'How did you get those sores?' She asked blankly. Deep inside, both of them knew the answer. She had never felt so humiliated and so angry in her entire life. But it was okay. There was still enough material for another doll.